


Graded

by aravenwood



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Can be read as slash because it's one of those days, Gen, Insecurity, Panic Attacks, Pre-Game(s), Prompto has Anxiety, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-18 21:06:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10625133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aravenwood/pseuds/aravenwood
Summary: He must look like a real piece of work, hyperventilating over a school report.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been quietly floating around this fandom for a little while, intending on waiting until I'd played the actual game and not only watched it online. But yeah, doesn't seem like that's going to happen...

He and Noct promise to save their school reports until they’re at Noct’s apartment; some eager part of Noct wants Ignis to be there and proud of how well he’s doing in his classes. And Prompto…well, it’s not like he has anyone else to show it to.

 

Ignis has mugs of hot chocolate waiting for them; cream, marshmallows, a little stick of chocolate to top it off. He seems to think it’s a special occasion with reason to celebrate – a little pre-emptive, Prompto thinks, or maybe Ignis just has that much faith in the two of them.

 

“Aw man, Iggy! This tastes awesome!” Prompto says and offers the older man a toothy grin. He tries not to dwell on the number of calories in the cream alone and is nearly successful.

 

“I’m glad you think so.” For once, there’s no sarcasm; just genuine pride. “Well? Open your reports.”

 

“Jeez, Iggy – you’re probably more excited about these than we are. I mean, not to boast or anything but I worked pretty damn hard this year to get these grades.” Noct tears the top of the brown envelope straight off and goes to pull the papers from within, but freezes when he notices that Prompto has yet to move.

 

Prompt knows he should open it and that Noct won’t read his grades until Prompto has his own ready at the same time. But he also knows his hands are shaking and he hates himself for being so nervous; why does he even care about his grades? He isn’t expecting someone to scold him or issue a warning to keep his head down and work hard.

 

But those grades, though, they’re important. The Crownsguard are strict about the grades that candidates must have gained and he’s already very likely to be rejected because of his lack of noble blood. Which is stupid because why would you use royals to protect other royals?

 

“Go on, Prom. Open it!” Noct encourages and nudges one leg against Prompto’s own. He has several fingers already holding the edges of his results and it isn’t fair for him to have to wait just because Prompto is having an existential crisis.

 

He rips the tab and pulls out each of the individual sheets containing details about his performance in class.

 

Art – A

Chemistry – C

English – B

Geography – B

History – B

Latin – D

Luxan – F

Mathematics – D

Physical Education – B

 

How..? How is it possible for him to have done so badly? Admittedly he doesn’t study all that much – not nearly as much as Noct – but he’s been doing better with that. His grades should be better than _that_.

 

“As in Luxan and Latin, Iggy. See, I told you I was picking them up!” Noct calls to his advisor, who’s been hovering in the kitchen just waiting to hear the good news. “And a B in chemistry!”

 

“Very good, your highness. May I see the rest?” Ignis sounds so far away, but maybe that’s just Prompto’s ears.

 

He’s dizzy and nauseous and he has to go – he can’t be around the prince and risk passing on his stupidity through diffusion or something. The papers slide from between his fingers and dance elegantly to the ground, but he notices it only absently as he tries not to throw up on royalty.

 

“Prom?” Noct calls to him, but again it’s quiet and muffled in his ears. He takes a deep, shuddering breath and lets it out in one long puff. He goes to take another breath, but can’t.

 

How can he have done worse in Luxan than in math? Goddammit he once spent an entire math class making words on his calculator and trying to make Noct lose it. That’s the class he should have an F next to it, not Luxan. He needs Luxan; all Crownsguards are required to be fluent within a year of being hired, and that’s only if they got an A in it.

 

And he outright failed the dumb subject. How can anyone be that dumb?

 

“Prompto.” That’s Ignis this time. “I need you to try and calm down. Can you breathe for me?” the distant voice of the advisor – and oh, would you look at that – Crownsguard requests. Ignis is a certified genius. He shouldn’t need to deal with idiots who apparently can’t even breathe.

 

Prompt recognises all the symptoms of a panic attack; the nausea, the dizziness, the inability to breathe. This isn’t his first rodeo when it comes to them, but it is his first one in front of people. He hates how vulnerable this makes him feel – how useless.

 

“I-I gotta go!” he tries to splutter, but what comes out instead doesn’t even sound like words – hey, maybe it’s Luxan! Or Latin, if he’s somehow a whole grade better at it.

 

Hands wrap themselves around his forearms and give him a long shake; his head moves bonelessly with the rest of his body. “Prompto, talk to me!” Oh great, he’s worried Noct. Is that a criminal offence – causing the mental distress of a future king? Probably.

 

He looks up – where was he looking before? – and tries to meet eyes with Noct, to reassure him that he’s not dying. The wide eyed frown that only deepens tells him that he must look like a real piece of work, hyperventilating over a school report.

 

“Prompto, can you look at me?” Ignis places himself between Prompto and Noct, thankfully shielding the prince from having to witness any more dramatics. He raises a hand to Prompto’s face and the blond can’t help it – he flinches. Ignis’s expression darkens and behind him, Noct lets out a low growl.

 

Fantastic, Prompto sneers to himself, now you’ve done it. Who knows what they’re thinking after that – that he’s broken? A coward? They’d probably be right.

 

Ignis shakes him lightly and he realises he hasn’t been paying attention. “Prompto, can you hear me? Come on, I need you to try and calm down. Breathe with me. In – one, two, three – and out – one, two, three.” The advisor matches his breathing to the counts and Prompto can’t believe he’s expected to do the same – he normally just lets the attacks run their course until he’s too exhausted to keep it up. He’s never actually warded one off, but that seems to be what Ignis expects him to do.

 

And if he doesn’t? He’ll be deemed unstable; unhealthy; unfit for a positon in the Crownsguard. He’ll never see Noct again and the only friend he’s ever known will move on just like his mother.

 

“Noct, this isn’t working. Would you fetch a potion, please?” Ignis sounds…not disappointed, exactly; maybe alarmed? Which would make sense if Noct was the one panicking, but it’s not.

 

Noct’s outstretched hand is empty, and then it’s not. Prompto briefly wonders if he blacked out but no, that’s not it. That can’t be it because he’s still hyperventilating and still not trying to faint – that would just be the icing on the cake.

 

“I need you to drink this. It’ll help, I promise,” Ignis instructs. The bottle lid is off when he waves the contents near Prompto’s face, seemingly trying to get his attention. He presses the opening of the bottle to Prompto’s lower lip and tilts it gently.

 

Prompto allows himself to be fed because his own hands are shaking uncontrollably and quite frankly, he’s got nothing left to lose. The bitterness makes him wince and gag, but it’s a blessed relief from the hyperventilating. He’s almost disappointed when the harsh taste leaves his mouth and the retching stops – he’s still gasping.

 

Ignis guides him back against the sofa cushions but doesn’t let go; he keeps a tight hold on Prompto’s forearms, a welcome sensation much to the boy’s surprise. It’s safe and grounding and he forces his muscles to relax.

 

The potion seems to have done some good because his brain calms down the number of thoughts it’s processing and Prompto feels like he can finally breathe. But he’s tired – so tired – and his head is heavy and limp against the back of the sofa.

 

Vaguely, he’s aware of the world tilting to the left, and while that’s something that should bring about part two of his attack, he feels like he can never imagine being worried about anything again. Someone places a cushion beneath his head and he relaxes into its soft hold. He could just stay here forever.

 

“Relax, Prompto,” one of them whispers – his brain doesn’t tell him which.

 

A voice at the back of his mind warns that Noct and Ignis might not appreciate the impromptu sleepover, but for once in his life he ignores it.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis has a few calming methods he'd like to try on Prompto.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, you guys are awesome. Like, really awesome! Thank you so much for the kudoses (kudi? Is the plural of kudos just kudos?), bookmarks and comments. I wasn't expecting such a positive response.
> 
> I've been throwing around ideas for this chapter and this is actually version 2 - I wrote version 1, read through it and immediately stopped writing for three days. This one, though...I can tolerate this one. 
> 
> I hope you guys can too.

Ignis is a scientist.

 

That’s not immediately apparent to anyone he meets, but Prompto has seen proof; he likes tests and experiments and hard proof. If there’s something he needs to know, he’ll take careful note of any possible tests and conduct each in a controlled environment.

 

Right now, he’s looking at Prompto like a specimen on a glass slide.

 

“I’ve thought long and hard” – Prompto giggles – “about your panic attacks – yes, I’m aware that can be counted as plural – and I have three possible methods of calming; exercises, pressure and sensation.” Ignis gestures to each of the three other than Prompto as he speaks; firstly to himself, then to Gladio and finally to Noct. The other two shift in their seats, distinctly uncomfortable.

 

Gladio – Gladiolus Amicitia – should be the most terrifying man in the kingdom, and in many ways he is; a body built like a heavyweight wrestler and a voice like a grizzly bear. A temper that could blow at any time and if it does…good luck. But he’s got a protective streak a mile wide, and Prompto’s covered by that.

 

Hence why the bigger man has Prompto sandwiched between him and Noct. It’s kind of nice, actually, to be that close to someone that constant physical contact is so important to them.

 

“Exercises, pressure and sensation,” Prompto repeats with a raised eyebrow. He’s not quite sure how to explain to Ignis that yes, he appreciates the concern, but he’s been having those episodes of wheezing since he was nine or ten and he’s used to them. Yes, they’re still terrifying and awkward and inconvenient, but they end. And yet, Ignis seems so worried that he feels the need to help – not just help, but come up with a solution.

 

Prompto knows he won’t find one, but how does he break the news?

 

“Yes. We’ll start with exercises, I think. I’d like you to do as I say and copy my breathing.” Ignis leans back against the chair that he’s positioned directly across from Prompto and rests one hand on his stomach. He sends Prompto a look that says ‘well?’ and the younger boy realises he’s supposed to do the same.

 

He tries to move his right arm, but his elbow hits Noct’s rib and the prince yelps. “Ow!” Noct whines and elbows back.

 

“Your Highness, he’s supposed to be relaxing,” Ignis says pointedly and Gladio snorts.

 

Noct groans and shifts so he’s sitting on the arm of the chair, giving Prompto room to shift, especially as Gladio takes that as a sign to do the same – suddenly, Prompto has all the room in the world. He copies Ignis’s resting stance but his muscles just don’t naturally relax in the same way that the older man’s do. Relaxing isn’t really his strong point.

 

“Good, Prompto. Now, take a deep breath in and hold it,” Ignis instructs. He follows his own instructions.

 

Prompto gasps in as much air as he can and puffs his cheeks to hold it in.

 

Something hard smacks the skin between his shoulderblades and he can’t help but choke on air. “Hey!” he yelps and glares daggers as Gladio.

 

“Take it seriously. Breathe in – slowly.” The grunted warning is enough to silence him and try to copy Ignis.

 

He breathes in for one, two, three…watches Ignis hold and does the same…and out for one, two, three. Repeats. His cheeks burn from embarrassment – he feels like a fool just sitting there and breathing in and out. He’s just glad no one is laughing.

 

“Two more…one more…and let’s stop for now. How do you feel?” Ignis questions.

 

Prompto shrugs and scratches his head. “Kinda lightheaded, you know? I thought you said we were starting with exercises, not breathing.”

 

“Breathing exercises,” Ignis points out. Oh, right. Prompto’s just glad he hasn’t stopped blushing from his initial embarrassment, so he can at least try to hide any further humiliation. “Now how do you feel? Ignis continues to push.

 

Feel? How is he _supposed_ to feel? “I guess…calm? But if you expect me to be able to do that when I’m panicking, you’re insane. It doesn’t work like that.” Prompto doesn’t mean to snap – he really doesn’t – but his voice still comes out a lot harsher than he planned for. His hands are trembling because he knows the three of them are watching him carefully for any signs of the hysteria they’re trying so hard to fix. That’s what Gladio called it before – hysteria. But Prompto knows he isn’t hysterical; he’s afraid.

 

The rest of his body starts shaking not long after his hands and he pushes himself against the back of the couch, drawing his knees close to his chest. They’re still looking at him – he can feel their eyes burning into his skin – and he really wants to be left alone.

 

He wants to be left alone, but a pair of muscular arms wrap around his shoulders and squeeze – hard. The pressure is intense and uncomfortable, but at the same time he thinks he loves it; it’s clear he isn’t alone, that he’s safe with his friends. He doesn’t want to be comforted by the company, but he is.

 

“You’re safe,” Gladio reminds him. Like he needs reminding. “This is called pressure; we squeeze you so hard that you know you’re never going to slip away. Understand?”

 

The squeeze never wavers, never falters. A cold hand cups his neck and he moans. His breathing slows and he looks up at Noct through half-lidded eyes. “’s nice,” he slurs.

 

“Sensation,” Noct explains and his hand heats up to near-uncomfortable levels. But for Prompto, it’s heaven. He nuzzles against Noct’s hand until it cools once more. He goes to speak, but words won’t come. No, every muscle in his body is loose and limp – he won’t be surprised if they never work again.

 

If they keep holding him like they are now, that’s not something he would mind.

 

“Exercise.” Ignis touches his knee.

 

“Pressure.” Another tight squeeze, this time pulling him against a muscular chest.

 

The hand on his neck warms teasingly. “Sensation.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I like this fandom, and I might just hang around for a while...

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and I really hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
